Mr. Melton shrugged his shoulders; but Count Schönstein was paying no attention to him.
"If she has discovered the secret," he was reasoning with himself, "she would be in no such desperate hurry to leave the stage. If she has not, now is the time for me."
"Melton," he said, "what would be a reasonable forfeit if she broke her engagement?"
"I don't know. I should say 200*l*. She said she could not offer me compensation in money, and that's why she begged so hard of me for the favour. God knows, if I could afford it, and were my own master, I should not make the poor creature keep to her engagement. Look at the money she used to put into the treasury every week."
"Very good. Come downstairs to your room; I want to transact some business with you."
When they had gone down to the stage and passed through the wings to Mr. Melton's private room, both men sate down in front of a table on which were writing materials.
"Take a sheet of paper, like a good fellow," said the Count, "and write to my dictation."
Melton took the pen in his hand, and the Count continued—
"My dear Miss Brunel,—In consideration of your past services, and of the great success attending—should that be attendant, Melton?—upon your previous labours in this theatre, I beg to offer you entire liberty to break your present engagement, at whatever time you please.—Yours sincerely, Charles Melton."
"And what do you propose to do with that, Count?" said Melton, with a smile.